


See the USA

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Series: See the USA [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 17:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11673405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: Life as a family on the run brings some joys and some challenges for Mulder, Scully, and William.





	See the USA

**Author's Note:**

> Portions of this were written at txf-fic-writein.
> 
> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

“I love you very much,” Scully says, “but you do drool an awful lot, you know that?”

“Why, thank you,” Mulder says.  He’s sitting on the bed, finishing their packing. 

“Are you getting more teeth?” she continues.  “Is that what this is?”

“I doubt it,” says Mulder.  “I don’t think I’ll be blessed with any more teeth in this lifetime.”

Scully shoots him a look.  “I wasn’t talking to you, you know.”  She turns back to William, who’s settled on her lap.  “Let’s get you cleaned up a little.”  She takes the pack of tissues out of her bag—she always carries them now, because a lot of places they stay have the dry, irritating kind—and uses one to wipe her son’s chin.  “There you go,” she says.  “Much better.”  He smiles at her, showing the eight teeth he already has, and she smiles back, hugging him close.

Mulder closes the last bag and stands up.  “Ready?” he asks.

She nods, standing up as well.  “All set.”

“How about you, William?” he asks, patting their son’s back.  “You ready to see somewhere new?”

 

“I just don’t see,” Mulder says, as they head back to their car from the rest stop, “how it can be so difficult to put them in men’s rooms too.”

This is not the first time they’ve had this conversation; Scully could probably do the whole thing by heart.  “Of course it’s not difficult.  People just make assumptions about who’s doing childcare.”

“Idiotic assumptions,” Mulder says.  “What if you weren’t with us?  Where would I change him, exactly?”

She never has a good answer when they get to this part—because he’s right, of course, and it is idiotic when they only put changing tables in the ladies’ rooms.  “Next to the sink?  Back in the car?  Anyway,” she adds, “I am with you.”  She touches his arm quickly. 

“That’s not the point,” Mulder says.  She opens the back door of the car, and he bends to settle William into his car seat.

Of course it’s not the point.  The changing tables aren’t the point either.  The point is the kind of father that he wants to be, the way he feels about missing most of William’s first year.  She can tell him—has told him—that he shouldn’t blame himself for that, that she told him to go.  She can point out that William won’t even remember that time anyway, that he’s a happy baby and he loves his dad, that since they’ve been together again she’s never felt like Mulder wasn’t doing his part, that when she watches the two of them together she’s sometimes close to crying with joy.  A few rest stop bathroom diaper changes one way or the other really don’t make any difference—she knows that, and Mulder knows that—but he still brings these things up.  She doesn’t know quite how to feel about the fact that this is what he’s heatedly discussing with her nowadays.

They cross the state line around three in the afternoon.  “Hey, William, a new state for you,” Mulder says.  “North Dakota.”  In his car seat, William yawns.

Scully can’t help laughing.  “You’re a smart baby,” she says.

“Both of you should have more respect for North Dakota,” Mulder says, but he’s smiling too.  “You can’t be expected to know all about it, William, but your mom should know better, at least.  We went here a couple of times before you were born, and it was plenty exciting.”

“We’re not taking him to a missile silo,” Scully says.  “The state’s not exactly known for its fun attractions.”

“Still,” Mulder says, “it’s a new state.  You’ve seen a lot of places, William, for someone your age.”

William doesn’t know what it means, though, to have seen all these states.  He looks curiously at the landmarks they pass, but he’s too young to understand what they are.  He seems content anywhere, so long as he’s with them, fed and cuddled and cared for; he’s neither troubled nor excited by their nomadic life.  They’ve taken to writing things down for him, now, in a small notebook she bought at a drugstore: places they’ve been and what they’ve seen there.  They hope that someday he’ll like knowing that he made the trip from Washington to New Mexico when he wasn’t yet a year old; that she bought him a floppy hat for the days they spent in the desert; that he spent his first birthday getting sick from the altitude somewhere outside Denver; that he’d seen Mount Rushmore, even if (thanks to the previous incident) only from a distance.  _But someday when you get older_ , Mulder had written at the end of that entry, _we’re going back and reenacting_ North By Northwest _._   They want to write these memories down for him because there’s something special in what he’s experienced, even if he doesn’t know it.  Even if, maybe, he won’t remember any of it.

It’s fun for the two of them, too, trying to imagine how he sees things.  It gives a freshness even to the familiar places.  They tallied up their own states once and found—no surprise—that they’d hit most of them together.  They’d never made Hawaii, though; it would be fun, they agreed, but they couldn’t exactly drive there.  “Someday,” Mulder said, his hand pressing hers.

“Yeah,” she said, “someday.”

“You think we could be chilled-out beach people, Scully?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  “But I’d be willing to give it a try.”

Right now, though, it’s North Dakota, and it’s the regular routine.  Find somewhere to stay that’s enough off the beaten track that they’re not surrounded by people but not so far off the beaten track that they’ll stick out.  Get settled in.  Groceries.  Set up the crib.

She glances back at William.  He’s asleep. 

 

William is fretful that night, fussing when it’s time for bed.  Scully nurses him and they both kiss him goodnight,  but when she puts him in the crib he starts making little whimpering sounds.  She picks him up again.  “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Mama,” he says plaintively as she looks at him, and she kisses his forehead, trying to figure it out.  She thinks he probably is getting more teeth.

“Is it your teeth?” she asks.  “I know that really hurts, sweetheart.  Here.”  She takes a finger and rubs his gums gently.  She hears the refrigerator door open and close from across the room, and then Mulder is by her side, having retrieved William’s teething ring from where they stashed it when they got here. 

“It’s not that cold yet,” he says.  “Better than nothing, though.  Here you go, William,” he says.  Their son grabs the teething ring with one small hand and mouths it enthusiastically.

She holds William against her.  “Is that better?” she asks.  “Teething’s no fun, I know.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says.  “But you’re doing pretty well with it.  You’re a tough kid, William.  And hey, the more teeth you get the more variety you can have in your diet.”  She loves that, when he talks to William about things that are a little above his comprehension level—diet variety, the day’s headlines, batting lineups—in the softest, gentlest voice.

The teething ring drops as William nods off, his head against her shoulder.  She lowers him carefully into the crib, covers him with a blanket, and then turns to smile at Mulder.  “Long day for him,” she says softly.

Mulder nods, smiling back.  “Long day for all of us,” he says.  “Are you tired, Scully?”  He reaches out to cup her cheek, and she leans into the touch.

“Mmm, no,” she says.  “Not very.”  She takes a step towards him, and they kiss, tender and slow.

They’re quiet as they make their way towards the bed.  The room they’ve taken is one of the nicer ones they’ve stayed in—it’s very clean, everywhere, even the bathroom, even the kitchenette—but it’s also on the smaller side.  Not that much distance between them and the crib, no matter where they are.  So they’re quiet, even as they sink down together, even as they unbutton each other’s shirts and press kisses to sensitive skin.  He whispers her name, and she shivers at the feel of his breath and the sound of his voice.

They shed the rest of their clothes and slide under the sheet.  His hand is on her, his touch light but purposeful, and she bites her lip hard to keep from making noise.  “Mulder, I want you,” she whispers.

“Want you too,” he whispers back, and he reaches into the nightstand drawer to get a condom.

They don’t know exactly what could happen—if it’s at all likely or even possible for her to get pregnant again—but it’s better safe than sorry.  They couldn’t manage this life with two babies.  Not to mention that she’s not really into the whole isolated birth idea, after last time, and it’s not like the two of them can just waltz into a hospital.  It makes sense to do it this way.

She doesn’t exactly have regrets.  That would be silly, things being as they are.  She has one child more than she thought she would ever have.  One baby, beautiful and perfect and hers, _theirs_ ; they’re a family now, her and the two people she loves most.  Maybe it’s the feeling she gets from being a family that makes her wonder sometimes, that makes her wish, that makes her think _If we could…_   But they’re not in a place where they can seriously think about another baby, and they might not be any time soon, and eventually it would be too late.  And all that’s assuming she could even have another.  There are too many ifs here.  It’s an idle wish, something that drifts through her mind occasionally, something that she might like but that doesn’t mean that what she has now is not enough.  This is the way things are.

It was strange the first time, their second night on the road.  (The first night, they’d slept in the car, their fingers interlaced.)  They’d never used birth control together before, and it just added to the other strange things—it had been almost two years, their baby was sleeping on the other side of the room, and her body looked and felt different.  She worried that it might not be like it had been.  But then Mulder was looking at her with such reverence, murmuring that he loved her, and she whispered the words back to him, and she had missed every bit of this, and maybe it was different in some ways but it felt so right, and all the time apart only seemed to make it more worth having, and how could it ever not work when it was the two of them?

She feels that way still, after these months on the road.  Doesn’t want to take a single touch for granted.  She sighs now as he moves inside her, his hands caressing, his face against her neck.  “God, so beautiful,” he breathes. 

“Mulder,” she gasps.  “That’s so…please…”  He knows her body, and she knows his, and it doesn’t take them long.

She gets out of bed to clean up and get ready to go to sleep.  He joins her after a minute or two; she’s in her pajamas, and he’s put his boxers back on, and they brush their teeth.

He catches her eye in the mirror and wraps his free arm around her.  She leans into his touch.

 

“Shower’s all yours,” Scully says, stepping out of the bathroom. 

“Thanks,” Mulder says.  “I’ll just finish up here.”  He’s wiping up cereal.  William’s been learning to use a spoon.  The key word is learning.  “There,” he says after a minute.  “Think we can go for a walk later?”

“Sure,” Scully says.  He kisses her cheek before heading for the shower.

She sets William on the bed while she finishes getting ready for the day.  She thinks it’s good for them all to have some form of routine.  It can’t be an exact science, of course—they move around too much for that, and they always have to think about safety—but they have certain things they try to do.  Get up and go to sleep at regular times (Mulder isn’t great at this one, but he tries).  Go out walking with William, in places where they’re not likely to undergo too much scrutiny (they wear sunglasses a lot; she’s not sure what they’re going to do in the winter).  Take turns reading to him (sometimes they’ll go to the library and pick something out and find a secluded corner and read to him there, because they’re sick of the same few books over and over again and you can’t get a card without proof of address).  Spend some time together, just her and Mulder, while William is asleep (sometimes they talk about everyday things, the baby or the news or the things they’re reading, and sometimes they dance around the questions of what they’ve seen and learned and what, if anything, they can do).

William has dropped a blanket over his head and is giggling.  “Where are you?” she asks.  “Where is William?”  More giggling.  She makes an elaborate search of the room, naming each place she looks (“Are you under the table?”  “Are you behind the bed?”) before sweeping the blanket away with a flourish.  “ _There_ you are!” she says.  “Oh, I never would have guessed.  There’s William!” 

“William,” he repeats.  He’s laughing and laughing now, and she sweeps him up into her arms and kisses the top of his head.

“I love you so much, my sweet William,” she says softly.  In this moment, she feels so lucky.

In a way, that seems odd.  The fact of the matter is that, by any objective standard, this is not the easiest way to bring up a child.  They can’t exactly take William to the pediatrician on a regular schedule or surround him with familiar scenes.  Try as she might to set a routine, there’s so much that they can’t predict.  Every decision means trying to strike the right balance—do they want to go outside and risk getting caught, or do they want to stay inside all the time and never get any sunlight or chances to stretch their legs?  It could all come crashing down tomorrow, even if they do their best.  It’s not safe, it’s not stable, and yet Scully feels safer and more stable, these days, than she has for quite a while.

There are parts of the past year that she doesn’t like to think about.  She’d known she was sad and scared, but she hadn’t realized how much, she guesses, hadn’t realized the way it all built up.  She’d thought that at the very least she was still thinking clearly and making the best possible decisions, even if that meant choosing the better of two bad choices.  She’d thought all that until those days in the spring.

She remembers leaning over William’s crib, saying that he’d be safer away from her, that it was the right choice, that she had to do it.  She remembers sincerely thinking that was true, believing that she had no other option, even as she hated to think it, even as her voice broke when she spoke the words.  Then she remembers Monica, her voice unsteady too: “Dana, I know you’re scared, and maybe it’s not my place—but you’re scaring _me_ right now.  You’re scaring the crap out of me.  Please don’t jump into something like this.  I know you, and this isn’t like you…”  And a part of her mind felt the pull but she said that it was like her, that Monica didn’t know, that thinking about it longer wouldn’t change her mind and it would only make everything harder.  “Please just…please just sleep on it,” Monica said.  “I’ll watch him, and you just sleep.  When did you last get a full night’s sleep?”  She tried to answer that question.  She couldn’t answer that question.  So she let Monica talk her into it; she slept for a long time, more deeply than she would have believed she could.  She remembers waking up, walking into the nursery, and seeing her son, and she remembers starting to sob.  She remembers picking him up then and gulping out that she was sorry.

Monica hugged her while she cried, and she promised to help in any way she could so that Scully wouldn’t feel that way again.  She kept saying that Scully wasn’t alone in this.  Scully knew that she meant it, and it did help some, but that was when she realized that things were unsustainable as they were.  She wasn’t alone, not truly—she had her mom, she had her friends from work—but it wasn’t the same as having Mulder there to do this with her.  If she wasn’t herself, it was because she was without him.  She wouldn’t ever have considered giving up William if he’d been there, she knew: she wouldn’t have felt that there was no hope.

When they formed their plan to get Mulder out of prison, the others were all surprised at how quickly she had everything packed.  She didn’t tell them, but she’d started getting ready the day after she’d realized that she’d almost made the wrong choice.  Just a little bit at a time—a few things packed, a few arrangements.  She’d made lists of what they would really need and what could be left behind.  She’d made plans for the fish.  All coming together, piece by piece, while she’d considered the best way to do it, because she hadn’t wanted to risk making a big mistake again.    But she’d known.  She’d known that she and William were going to join Mulder somehow.  She’d known that things didn’t work when it was just one of them.

Mulder’s trial only made it happen a little sooner than it might have done otherwise.  On their first night of driving, they pulled over so that she could feed William.  She put him in Mulder’s arms afterwards and watched the two of them together.  They were fleeing for their lives.  She felt like she could breathe.

So their lives are not stable or safe, and all of their decisions are fraught.  At least, though, they get to talk through those decisions together; she knows she is not navigating alone.  She has both Mulder and William with her now, for the first time since the few days after William’s birth, and she will do everything in her power never to let that change. 

William wriggles in her arms, and she lets him down with another kiss.  He toddles across the room as Mulder comes out of the bathroom and dresses quickly.

“You want to go for a walk with me and your mom, William?” he asks.  William looks up at him, smiling.  “All right, then.  Will you let me put your shoes on?”

Mulder hoists William into his lap and starts lacing up the tiny sneakers.  Scully retrieves their sunglasses.  “Where do you want to go?” she asks. 

“That park area?” Mulder asks.  “Near the grocery store?”

Scully considers.  “Seems all right.”

They can’t know.  But they’ll go for a walk.

 

It’s a cool fall day.  They’re standing on the grass, both wearing hats and watching William hurl himself into piles of fallen leaves with abandon.  There’s a small girl doing the same, a woman watching her.

“Aw, look,” the woman says.  “They’re making friends.”  They aren’t, really.  They’re more or less ignoring each other and occasionally tossing leaves in the same direction, which has to be just a coincidence at their age.  But Scully smiles and nods in response to the comment.  “How old is he?” the woman asks.

“One and a half,” Scully says.

“A little younger than Kayla, then,” the woman says, gesturing towards the little girl.  “She’ll be two in January.  I can’t believe how fast they grow.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says.  “It’s pretty nuts.”

“We’re starting to think about daycare,” the woman says.  “I’m worried I’ll miss her too much, though.  What about you?  Do you have him in daycare at all?”

“No,” Scully says.  “No, not yet.  He’s just with us for now.”

“We like having him around,” Mulder adds with a grin, squeezing Scully’s hand.

“I’d hope so,” the woman says, laughing.  “Well, we should get going.  It’s almost time for her nap.”  Once she’s coaxed the resisting girl away from the leaves and into her stroller, she waves at the two of them.  “See you here again soon, I hope,” she says, as she starts to push the stroller towards the entrance to the park.

They might, they might not.  They’ve been here for a while now; soon it’ll be time to move on.  And there’s the nagging part of her that would rather not see the woman again, anyway.

Now that it’s been some months, she doesn’t worry quite so much.  This woman was, to all appearances, a perfectly legitimate mother taking her small child to play in the park, and there’s no reason to think that she was anything else or that she had some sinister interest in William.  And yet there’s always a doubt, a seasoning of the same feeling that made her panic, their first week on the run, and tell a cooing old woman in the grocery store that the baby’s name was Harold.  It was a ridiculous thing to do—if the woman were really after him, she wouldn’t be put off by a fake name, and besides, when was the last time someone named their baby that?—but she’d felt as though she needed to at least do something to protect him, to hide who he was.

Maybe the worry comes from knowing that she can’t truly do it.  It’s a question of trying their hardest not to be found and hoping that no one is trying equally hard to find them.  She’d worried, once, that not being able to protect William meant that she wasn’t the right person to take care of him.  Now she knows that she is the right person—she and Mulder—and she knows, too, that that doesn’t mean anything like an end to worrying.

 

Mulder brought the topic up once, a couple of months ago, out of the blue.  She was holding William, who was nodding off against her shoulder, and he looked at the baby before speaking.  “Do you think William would like it if we got married?”

Scully didn’t like that he’d put it that way.  They both knew that that wasn’t really the question, so why couldn’t he just say what he meant straight out?  After all that they’d been through, after they’d given up almost everything to be together, he surely couldn’t doubt how she felt about him.  Why did he have to hide behind asking about the baby?  “Why on earth would he care?” she said shortly.  Her voice softened, though, when she saw the look on Mulder’s face.  “Why don’t you just ask me what I think?”

“Okay,” he said, sounding nearly shy.  “How would…how would you feel about it, Scully?  Getting married.”

They’d never talked about it before, and it would probably be a smart idea for her to take some time and think.  “I’d feel good about it,” she said.  “I’d feel really, really good about it.”  Because she would.  That was the truth.

“I’d feel really, really good about it too,” he said, laying his hand on her arm.

She let out a breath.  “It would be so risky.”  They weren’t in a position to put their names to official paperwork.

“I know,” he said.  “I know we probably can’t.  Not anytime soon, anyway.  I guess I just wanted…I wanted you to know that I’d want to if we could.”

“I would too,” she said.  “Of course I would.”  Strange: she hadn’t let herself think about this before today, and now she felt like she’d been waiting so long.  “But not when it’s this risky.  I can’t lose you.  Not for anything.”

“You’re not losing me,” he said, and there was promise in his voice, even as it mixed with regret for what couldn’t be.  “Can I say we’re engaged?”

“Sure,” she said.  “Who’re you going to say it to?”

He shrugged.  “You.  William.”

“All right.”

“We’re engaged,” he said, and she loved to see him smile like that.

Since then they haven’t talked about it, because there’s really not much to say.  They both know that they’d like to get married; they both know that right now it’s not an option.  She doesn’t expect him to bring it up today, as they settle into yet another motel.  William is taking his nap; Scully’s unpacking their things; Mulder’s just come back from getting groceries.

“Scully,” he says, and she closes a drawer and looks up.  “When I was out just now, I passed this store.  Secondhand stuff, but nice.  You know the kind of place.  They had a bunch of jewelry, and these were in the window.”  He holds them out.  Two rings.  Silver, simple.  She wonders, fleetingly, what happened to their last owners.  “It’s not exactly legally binding, I know,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.  “But I thought, maybe…would you like to wear them?”

No, it’s not exactly legally binding.  It wouldn’t even be the first time they’ve worn rings together.  But the last time there wasn’t anything behind it (nothing they were willing to admit then, anyway).  And now…now there would be so much behind it.  There would be the way she loves this man and the way he makes her feel loved, everything they’ve already shared and everything she wants to share with him in the years to come.  “I would love to,” she says.

He’s still holding the rings, looking down at them.  “I know it won’t be…You deserve a real wedding, Scully.”

She shrugs.  “I feel all right about it.  I’ve got you, Mulder.”

“Yeah,” he says.  “You’ve got me, Scully.  And I’ve got you.”

They’ve both heard the wedding vows enough times to more or less know how they go, and they say them as they slip the rings onto each other’s fingers, sitting at a plastic kitchen table in a strange motel room.  If the vows are a description of what marriage entails, she thinks they’ve already proved they can handle it; they’ve made it through “for better, for worse” and “in sickness and in health” and only come out loving each other harder.  She doesn’t even like to think about “until death do us part,” though, not after those months when she thought that it really had.  It hadn’t, though, thank God, and she adds, “And I’m not sure that’s going to stop us either” onto the end, her voice halfway between laughing and choking up.

When he pulls her into a kiss, afterwards, it doesn’t feel any different from before.  It feels like Mulder kissing her, needy and tender and so loving.  She wants it to always feel like that.

The rings weren’t his only unexpected purchase: there’s a bottle of sparkling cider and a little cake in one of the bags from the grocery store.  They have them with dinner.  William gets a piece of cake too, after his mashed vegetables.  “Cake,” he says, sticking his fingers into it.

“Yes, cake,” Mulder says.  “We’re having cake because your mom and I got married today.  More or less.  Do you know what that means, William?”

William smears frosting on his face.  “Cake cake cake.”

“Clearly you’re no romantic,” Mulder says.  “But it means that we promised we’re always going to be together, William.  And I’m very glad we did.”

“And I’m very glad too,” Scully says.  She leans across the table to kiss him again.  William bangs his spoon.

They sit up together after they’ve put William to bed, talking, finishing off the cider, sneaking looks at their rings.  Mulder pours himself another glass and clears his throat ostentatiously.  “I’d like to give a toast,”  he says in a strange voice.  He raises the glass.

She raises an eyebrow.  “Mulder, what are you doing?”

“I’ve known Agents Mulder and Scully for almost ten years now,” he continues in the same voice, ignoring her question.  “They’re nothing but trouble, mostly, but when it comes down to it, I’ll admit I like them.”

“Is that supposed to be Skinner?” Scully asks.  “Because you don’t sound anything like him.”

“They’re hard-working and they never give up on anything,” he says.  “Those are valuable traits in our line of work, and I’m sure they’ll serve them well in marriage too.  Besides, they’ve been dancing around each other for so long it’s about time they got around to this.  I wish them nothing but the best.”  He lowers the glass and takes a sip.  “Wow, Scully,” he says in his ordinary voice.  “We’ve only been married a few hours, and you’re already insulting my impressions.”

“Yeah, well, being married doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you you’re perfect all the time.”  She smiles at him, grabs the cider, and pours herself another glass.  “Let me show you how it’s done.”

She does her mom, smiling as she gives the toast, saying how happy she is that he’s finally part of the family.  “All right,” he says afterwards.  “Fine.  You’re better at impressions.”  He pours himself more cider.  “That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop doing them.”

They run through the circle of their friends and family between them, trading off toasts, the two of them barely stifling their laughter so as not to wake William.  At one point, she lines up three glasses in front of her and gives her greatest performance of the evening.

“And so,” she finishes, picking up one of the three, “to conclude, we wish Mulder and Scully all the best.”  She sets it down, picks up the second, changes her voice.  “Even if marriage is just a scam by the government to collect personal information and blood samples.”   She sets down that glass and picks up the third, shifting her voice again.  “And I’d like to say that, if I can’t be with the lovely Scully myself, it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”  She sets down that glass too and grins triumphantly at Mulder.  He applauds.

“And speaking of which,” he says.  His hands are on her waist, all of a sudden, and his mouth is on her ear.  “I still think you deserve a real wedding, by the way.  But for now, right at this very moment, you deserve a real wedding night.”

Sometimes, even in this makeshift life, things work out perfectly.  Most of the places they’ve stayed in have been studio-style; this one, just by chance, has a bedroom that’s separate from the kitchen and living area, the spot where they’ve placed William’s crib.  A bedroom with a real door.

Scully can tell, tonight, that Mulder’s determined to make use of every last bit of knowledge he’s gained about her over the course of their relationship: what gets her started, what makes her desperate, what makes her explode.  She feels like he’s everywhere at once, touching and touching her, his hands, his mouth.  So much pleasure. 

She thought when he kissed her earlier that it wasn’t any different.  Now, as he moves inside her, it both isn’t and is.  It’s still Mulder’s touch, still grounded in everything they’ve shared.  But when he gasps, “Love you, Scully, always, always,” the words make her think about the future.  They’re not only grounded in the past but in this new stage, in what they’ve promised today.

 

It started to rain late in the morning, so they don’t go out today.  They’re hanging around the room instead.  Mulder’s reading to William, a picture book that they got him for Christmas. It’s about a pig who meets a talking bone, which is an odd concept for a story, but she’s seen stranger things.  Mulder always gives the bone an English accent.  Scully doesn’t know why.

“Why is the bone British?” she asks him once he’s finished, when he’s closed the book and is sitting back in the chair with William in his lap.

Mulder shrugs.  “It feels right,” he says.  “You’ve got to get into character, you know, Scully.  It keeps things interesting.”

“You always do that,” Scully says.  Bone With English Accent is one of his better voices; it’s still not spot-on, but it’s cute anyway.  At least she thinks so.

She looks out the window.  The rain has stopped.  “We could go for a quick walk,” she says, “before dinner.  Stretch our legs.”  He nods. 

They always bring the stroller, because they sometimes need it on the way back even if not the way there, but now William likes to walk along beside them, holding one or the other of their hands, when they go out.  He’s holding Scully’s hand as they walk out now, wearing a coat with his overalls.  It’s not freezing cold anymore, but it’s one of those overcast, chilly days.  She kind of likes those days.  She remembers cases they solved in weather like this, the two of them huddled under one umbrella.  They bring an umbrella now, just in case.

This town has a pretty nice playground, although it’s nearly deserted today, everything wet with the recent showers.  They have the structure to themselves.  William eyes the slide.  He’s been doing that for a while.  He cried the first time he went to the top, but lately he’s been looking at it again.  They keep an eye on him.

He wanders towards the swings for now, and Scully dries one off with the sleeve of her coat before placing him in it.  She pushes for a while, and he laughs and waves his hands as he moves back and worth.  That’s something she passed on, she thinks.  She loved the swings when she was a kid.

They steer him away from the sandbox, which looks damp and unpleasant.  He’s still eying the slide.  “You want to try that again, William?” Mulder asks.  “Do you want to try the slide?” 

He’s still looking.  “Up,” he finally says.  “William up.”  So Mulder picks him up and carries him there.  Scully waits at the bottom. 

Once at the top, though, William still seems reluctant.  “How about we go down together?” Mulder says.  He settles William on his lap.  “Like this.”

“Down!” William says firmly, after a moment, and the two of them slide towards her together.  William’s laughing, and she’s close to it herself; the slide wasn’t really made for a tall man.  They’re all the way down almost before they get on it.

Once they’re at the bottom William demands to go up again, and after a couple more times with Mulder he wriggles away and slides down.  Scully catches him at the bottom.  “Wow!” she says.  “You did it all by yourself, William.”

William would like to keep sliding all day, she thinks, but it starts to rain again.  They go back to the room together, under one umbrella, three now.

 

William was fussy last night when they put him to bed, and he woke up fussy again this morning.  He barely ate anything for breakfast, not even wanting to nurse, and he promptly threw up ten minutes later.  She cleaned him up and took his temperature.  A little high.

She’s given him medicine.  She’s been giving him sips of water all day, making sure he stays hydrated.  He threw up again around the middle of the day; right now it’s been a few hours without that happening, but he still looks so miserable.  He keeps whimpering, no matter what she does, and his face looks flushed.  He still has a little bit of a temperature.  It hasn’t gone up, but it hasn’t gone down either.

What she’d like to do would be to call his pediatrician.  But of course he doesn’t have one.  None of them have that kind of safety net.  They have her, but what she can do only goes so far: she can’t write prescriptions or give William shots or put herself on some more long-term form of birth control, all of which she wishes were options.  If this gets worse, she could take him to the emergency room: she’d have to do it carefully to avoid giving them away, but it could be done, somehow, if she had to.  She doesn’t think this is at that stage yet; she thinks it’s just one of those bugs that everyone gets.  But what if she’s wrong?

“How’re you feeling, little guy?”  Mulder is bending over the crib.

“Don’t,” she says sharply.  “Let him try to sleep.”

“I was just checking on him,” Mulder says.

“Well, don’t,” she says.

He sighs then and comes to sit beside her.  “What did I do?”

“Just…just let me handle this,” she says. 

“Do you think it’s something serious?” Mulder asks.  He looks worried too now, and that doesn’t help.

“No,” she says.  “I don’t think so.  But I don’t know.”

“But you know what to do for him,” Mulder says.  As if it’s simple, as if it’s easy.

“I’m not a magician, Mulder,” she says.  “I’m going to keep doing what I’ve been doing.  Hopefully he’ll feel better soon.”

“If you think it’s serious—”

“I just said I didn’t,” she snaps.  She wonders if she really means it.  Is she just telling herself that it’s nothing serious because the alternative would be too frightening?  “I’m keeping an eye on him.  Since I can’t get a second opinion.”

He looks hurt at that, but it’s true.  There are certain things she wishes she hadn’t had to give up.  There are certain things she wishes were simpler.  She suspects that he feels the same, if it comes down to it.  But it’s not something they talk about.

“Scully,” he says.  “Scully, I don’t like seeing him sick either.”

“I never said you did.”

“If…if you think we should take him to a doctor, I’m sure we can figure out a way.”

What if she’s being overly optimistic?  What if they wait too long and he gets sicker and sicker?  But what if it is just a bug and they go to the hospital anyway and someone spots them?  “I wish,” she says, “that taking our child to the doctor wasn’t something we had to figure out.”

“Well, it is,” he says.  “And I wish that you weren’t avoiding the idea just because you’re worried about someone finding me.”

“I’m not avoiding the idea,” she says.  “I really don’t think he needs to go.  Not yet.  I am keeping an eye on him.”  Mulder doesn’t look very happy with that.  Well, good.  She’s not very happy with it either.

William wakes up then, wailing, and she goes over to the crib and scoops him up.  “My poor baby,” she says softly.  “Is your tummy feeling any better?”  She touches the back of her hand to his forehead.  Still a little warm.  Not as warm as it was.  She thinks.  Maybe she just hopes.  “Let’s get you some water.”

 

The night air is cool on their skin.  Early April, that time when it could be winter still or it could be spring.  Right now, it’s pleasant.  A little breezy.  Mulder hoists William up onto his shoulder; he yawns and blinks.

The bell at the door of the diner is very feeble.  Like the rest of the place, it seems to have given up on things.  There aren’t other buildings around: this diner shuns company.  The laminate is peeling off the menus.  The guy at the counter looks like he’s asleep.  It smells like coffee and things grilling, the snatched meals of a quick life.  Is this the right place for them, she wonders, or the wrong place?

There aren’t many people here.  There’s a young couple heading out the door.  They can’t be more than twenty.  He’s carrying a baby.  Her hair is dyed.  The aging station wagon next to the entrance is probably theirs.  They nod at Mulder and Scully as they pass, and Mulder and Scully nod back.  _Here we are, this is life today, we are carrying a baby in this diner at midnight._ Scully reaches up to tighten the scarf around her hair. 

Most of the other people in here look like they’re in the midst of work.  There are trucks parked around the place, trucks that mean business.  Two guys talk animatedly about baseball in one of the booths, but most of them are alone, looking into cups of coffee.  This isn’t a place for meetings.

But places become what they must be.  There’s a woman sitting in the last booth, way at the back, under a blinking fluorescent bulb, on a cracked green vinyl bench.  She’s holding one of those laminated menus, but she’s not studying it.  She’s scanning the room, then darting her head back down to the menu, trying to look like she’s not scanning the room. 

They’ve been planning this meeting for months.  This is where and what it is.  A sad little room to cross.  Scully taps Mulder’s arm, nods towards the table.  They don’t wave, but they make their way forward and slide onto the bench.  It’s not comfortable seating, but here they are.  The three of them.  And her mom.

“Hi,” Scully says quietly.  She puts her hand on the table, touches her mom’s.

“Hi, sweetheart,” her mom says.  They’ve told her not to use their names, not even in this place where no one is paying attention to anyone.  Her gaze sweeps over them all, studying Scully’s face, then Mulder’s, then William sitting on his lap.  “He got so big,” she says.  That was what Mulder said too, back in May, when he saw William for the first time in almost a year.  Scully’s the only one who’s been there the whole time, who’s seen William grow in a way that doesn’t feel sudden.  She wonders if he’ll ever get to be with all the people who love him at once.

“He did,” she says.  She touches her son’s cheek.  “Do you remember Grandma?  She used to watch you all the time, when you were really little.”  It’s strange to think of someone as young as William as having a past, a life that was utterly different from the one he leads now.  William looks at her mom for a few seconds, then hides his face against Mulder. 

“He’s a little…we don’t see a lot of people,” Mulder says.

After a moment, her mom nods.  “Are you doing all right?” she asks.  It doesn’t seem like the right question.

Scully nods.  “We’re fine,” she says.  “We’re all…we’re taking care of ourselves, and we get to see a lot of different places.  That’s a lot of fun, with the baby.”  What else to tell her?  “I wish he was more awake right now.  He’s talking a bunch, and he really walks everywhere.  Sometimes when we go out, he won’t even let us carry him.  You should see him then, Mom.”

“I wish I could,” her mom says. 

“And we’re safe,” Scully says.  “We really are.”  As much as they can be, anyway.

“You’re being careful?” her mom asks.

“Of course we are,” she says.  She squeezes her mom’s hand.  “Very, very careful.”  A waitress comes by then.  They all get coffee.

Her mom looks down at her hand on the tabletop, and her eyes widen when she sees the ring.  “Did you get married?”  She looks so pleased at the thought, and Scully considers just telling her that they did and not explaining any further.  It wouldn’t exactly be a lie, but she knows that what they did is not what her mom means when she asks the question.

“Not really,” she says.  “We’d like to, but it’s too hard right now, Mom.  We decided to wear these instead.”  She wants to reassure her mom that it was something meaningful and that they’re committed even if they are still officially living in sin, but she’s afraid it would sound silly put into words.  It should be clear how they feel about each other, she thinks, from all they’ve done.

“Oh,” her mom says.  “All right.”  They fall silent.

“How about you?” Mulder asks.  “How have you been doing?”

“Oh, I’ve been fine,” her mom says.  “Keeping myself busy.”  She takes a sip of her coffee.  “I just worry about you.”

“You don’t have to worry, Mom,” Scully says, but she knows her words are pointless.  She would worry too, in her mom’s place. 

They sip their coffee.  They tell her mom more William stories, as if that makes up for something.

William lets out a little whine.  “I think he needs changing,” Mulder says.

“I’ll do it,” Scully says, although she doubts from the look of things that this is the kind of place that has appropriate facilities in either the women’s or the men’s bathroom.  “Come here, baby.”

“I’ll come with you,” her mom says, rising as well.

She was right about the bathroom.  There’s no space by the sink, either, so she does the best she can laying him on a pad on the floor, which is not exactly dirty but which is definitely not clean.  Her mom stands by the sink.  “Is he taking care of you?” she asks suddenly.

It’s a strange question, in Scully’s opinion, because she’ll be forty next year and doesn’t really need to be taken care of.  But she knows what answer her mom wants, so she says, “Yes,” and she supposes it’s true in a way.  They take care of each other.

“And you’re all right?” her mom asks.  “You’re happy?”

“Yes,” she says.  That part is true too, even if right now her heart aches.  She finishes changing William and picks him up.  “Do you want to hold him for a few minutes?” she asks.  Her mom nods, and she passes him over, saying, “Grandma’s going to hold you for a little bit.  It’s all right.  It’s all right.”  He looks as though he’s thinking about crying, but maybe he’s too tired for that; he rests quietly in her mother’s arms while Scully washes her hands.

They never planned for this meeting to be a long one, and yet it seems unfair how soon they’re all heading into the parking lot.  Her mom hugs Mulder once, then hugs her for much longer.  They’re about to turn and go when she says, “Wait.”  She reaches into the trunk of her car and pulls out a small package, which she hands to Scully.  “This is for you.  Everyone wanted you to have something.”  One last hug then, one last goodbye, and they’re going their separate ways.

They wait to open the package until they’ve reached the next motel.  There’s a container of cookies at the top, the raisin kind her mom has always made.  A small stuffed animal is next; Scully thinks it’s a shark for half a second, and then she realizes no, it’s a whale, and she starts to laugh.  There’s a keychain in there, a black circle that’s dotted all over with shiny silver spots.  At the bottom, they find a plain white envelope; inside there’s a gift card, one of the kind that you can use in a variety of stores, and a note in familiar handwriting.  _Get whatever you need.  We’re all working on bringing you home.  Take care of yourselves, you two.  My best to the baby._

They hold each other close as they look at the things laid out on the table, as they think about the friends they have, somewhere else, not here.

 

They’re lying in bed one night when Mulder asks, “Do you ever think about what you want to do later?”

“Later?” she asks, snuggling up to him.

“When this is over,” he says.  “Someday.”

They’ve never talked about it in anything but the most vague way.  She wonders if it’s her mom’s visit that brought this on.  Maybe she’s not the only one who’s been thinking more, since then, about what they’ve left behind, about when and if they might see home again.  “Sure,” she says.

“What do you think about?” he asks.  “What would you want to do first?”

“Well, that part’s pretty simple,” she says.  “I’d want to see my mom.  All our friends.  How about you?”

His hand is on her arm, stroking gently.  “I know you said you didn’t mind the way we did things,” he says, “but I’d want to marry you.  In a more official way.”

“I meant I didn’t mind for now,” Scully says.  “I’d want to do it for real too, if we could.  Besides, what we have going on now is definitely not good enough for my mom.”  She’s trying to make a joke out of it; she can practically hear it fall flat.  So she just says, “Yeah, I’d want to marry you,” again and thinks about what else she’d want to do.  “We’d have to find a place to live.”

“Yeah,” he says.  “Apartment or—”

“House,” she says decisively along with him.

He laughs.  “That’s what I was thinking too.”

“I love you,” she says, “and I love William.  And I also love the idea of us not being constantly on top of each other.”

He nods.  “Especially when he’s a little older.  We’re not always going to be able to share a room.”

“You just want to get laid,” she says.

“Well, yes.”  He smirks and kisses her neck.  She wonders what that shift would be like—to go from always together to spread out.  Even when it gets to be a little much, there’s still a part of her that likes knowing that they’re within reach.  She wonders if she’d feel safe without that.  “Would you want to go back to the FBI?” he asks.

“After what they did to you?”

“I know,” he says.  “I guess I haven’t really thought about what else we’d do.”

She knows what he means.  They’ve always been something dramatic: Special Agents Mulder and Scully, Mulder and Scully on the run.  Their old life is not one that she wants to return to—it’s an insane idea, now that they have a child—and yet she has a feeling that if he asked her, she might.  “Maybe I’d go back to medicine,” she says, mostly to see how he responds.  He just nods, and she continues, “It would be a lot of work, I know.  I’d have to do my residency again.  But I could do that.”

“Of course you could,” he says.  “And if we needed to, I could stay home with William for a while.”  He smiles at her.

The idea brings her back to the other thought she’s had, the one that she doesn’t share with him or even let become a full-blown wish because she knows it can’t happen now.  But they’re just dreaming here, just talking about things that can’t happen.  “What would you…I mean, I know it depends on when…how old I am and I don’t even know if I could…”  She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous to say it.  Maybe she doesn’t want him to feel like he has to say yes.  Maybe she doesn’t want to make him hope too.  Maybe she doesn’t want him to feel sorry for her.  “But if I could…would you want another baby?”  She presses her face against his chest.

He kisses the top of her head.  “That would be…such a wonderful thing, Scully.”

She looks up.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.  “And I’d want to do right by both of you.  This time.”

“You’ve already done right by me and William,” she says.  “You have.”  But he doesn’t say anything, only winds an arm around her waist, and they settle back in the bed.  Someone is watching TV loudly in the next room.

 

“I don’t think you’ve seen this movie.  But it’s a great one.  A classic, even.  Great script, great cast, great message.  Even the special effects are pretty good.”  Scully stands in the door of the bathroom looking at them.  They’re sitting on the bed.  Mulder’s got William propped against him, and he’s leaning towards their son, talking about something on the TV.  “Plus there are theremins.  You look like someone who appreciates a good theremin.”

“Fay-min,” William says, or something like it, and Mulder grins.

“See, I knew it,” he says.  “You want to watch with me?”

“Watch,” William says.  “William watch.  Daddy watch.”  He looks up as she comes towards them.  “Mommy watch?”

“Sure, I’ll watch,” she says.  “What is it?”  She glances at the TV and recognizes the movie, which is just starting.  It’s _The Day the Earth Stood Still_.  “Oh, this one really is a classic.”

“See, even your mom admits it,” Mulder says.  “And she sometimes has questionable taste.”

“I have excellent taste.  William knows that,” she says.  “Come on, move over.”  He shifts on the bed, and she takes her seat. 

It’s a rainy night somewhere in southern Washington state, and they’re in a motel room with white walls and light green carpeting.  They don’t know exactly how much longer they’re going to be here, or where they’re going to go next, or how many other places they’ll travel.  They’re settled on the bed, all three of them, Mulder and Scully and William snuggled in between.  They’re watching a movie. 


End file.
